Nacho Type

CORPORATE ENZYME LEECH MONGERING PROTOPLASMIC AWARENESS An odd thing happened to me I sat in the center of yet another mysterious "grass circle". Three insects visited my world, small though I had made it. The butterfly, the charm of the year, lifted my eyes to the horizon once again. The bee continued the fateful doledroms of planning a violent coup with alien technology rival to the old queen's. And, of course, our old friend the discriminated, pacifist fly was ensnared once again by the ever enticing "light". I buzzed myself a leg or two. They didn't notice the circle, themselves being a part of it.

My three latest grapefruits acosted me roughly. How was I to know they were normal? Now, NORML I could deal with, but these were intent on geeking me back onto gravity: gravely with feeling, booming to the moon to the sun on it's run back to the simplist tune, one hum quite oft' come streaming down the trees like nobodies Pooh pajamas.

Cranberry sauce prounced merrily into the fray by tea time, galavanting about with a beutifully chromed weapon of extra-terrestrial origin. He smiled upon me many a current, middle-loading my thing king machine with it's infinate spokes a pokin' out about the edges of the eyes, warm with an arid moistness. I'm not sure what your sneakers might make upon passing that little movement.

Glancing around, I see you again. Your putrescence glows from within me, green against my blue clouds in a sky of morticioust artificial wood grain. It looped me to remember why it hurt there. Elsyways, no red, no dead, head? It calls when you'd least expect it. Just float...down...


Water like trees could not ask but one cup of almost honey fiddle, with friends beneath power who think none a worry to listen, perhaps only to wake their dark timely music.

be  An Elgaroo/Drakos Jointleave



the grass recedes gently
the sugar fields

she watches slowly
as we
look down

i notice clouds
pierce nightly


i locate mirrors
see my fate

mercy, mercy,
bring my cow
now oft' times
to've opened soap

Ello! just to find
the spirit rising
freshly substitute
coat dope

i find the diamonds
cool and steaming
i'd hardly miss,

flying off in wide abandon, hoping larry knows i'm gone.

Lycogomorphanthrope B goodmorning eggdirdle

twice removed i saw the glimmer, saw the shadow on the pavement, read the letter in the lunchbox, in the birdhouse, on the road. the night i will remember in the darkness, in the shadow as i turn the pages clockwise, see the phantom on the wall. the resivoir incites me, sticks it's needles in my glue, you see the flicker light my candle, send my colors into Fall. the enema is rainbow colored, variations stalk, inspire me, connect and tingle, web in focus, location nowhere open cantalope, i saw the monster, i saw the rude rind, i closed that door and trudged along the carousel.

once i saw the error i never saw the night again. once i saw the mirror i never saw the face of men. look across the void, look into the meat, see the absance synth, feel the heat. one ticket is not enough. three mirits the negative, tough. roll around in carpet bags my precious little worm fiend, licking up the notice of regular customers crawling in the dirt of a thousand ecstasies and i lathered her with all i could to notice the buster the night sticking me up for green back fruit change martyr munchies in the delegate of cream puff garden hooisery lampry feeling entropy lampoon doggy hard flat crayfish bomb crank oil slick me with walrus good god the frank sauce.



An unsuspecting coyote approaches a lithium-tainted bait,

We introduced ourselves as Larry and Moe. Knowing not quite where wee'd come from. I opened a bag so they could see for themselves. The tomatos incased us in frieght, but we knew them not. They led us through doorways, through walls between out and in; we flourished dramatically. The sights reflected fantasmagorphically and aflicted with glass, cut and blown from the floor of my room with the reverse-puff cleaning action of 23x scrubbing bubbles, independantly variable as red cream pie laughing in my hair when she touched me, opened my eyes to catipillars and hedghogs hiding behind ternips that felt there and made real.

...tastes it, gets nauseated,

I always remembered the socks I found cleaning the attic that day. They looked at me as if to say, "Pardon the roof, but we actually sock, if you buzz me properly with your endings." I jumped at the thought of asking them for autosodiographs, but opted for the lonely vegitative covering of Dr. Spock, behind a door of absolute black, as you surely can recall. What's that sleuth done with my tastebuds lately. God, I miss my puppets. Oi, pipe, wait for me!

...and finally urinates on the sickening snack.

He couldn't find his hat, so he made his own. He didn't quite know what to do with it! He eventually began working more and more on it, putting on additions and incorporating bits from here and there, and nowhere. It soon became a world in it's own right, his own place to live and breathe. And then one day he took it off. It seamed a long way down, fraught with beans and streams aplenty. It ended up being worth any loss though, as he turned and saw it from without, from the ground that assalted his souls with gravity. And it's glory shone, floating there like some astaroidial castle of hodge-podge. He then saw other hats about it, orbiting it as, yes, it orbited them as well. But they all tied fast to the ground, like his own feet now. As gravity showed him why and how, he no longer held his captivity against Mary, but loved her more in her place. The glass showed him more: the world of the bunnies coming to an end, the races at war within his hat, existance through the eye of a bagel. It explained a lot in a language any fluff can easily understand: polar penguin expiditions to the Atlantic in leauge with sea mammals in search of thier island, the bubbles, the whirlpool; where had it gone? Flow showed them all a light within the most twisted darkness he could inflict, even upon himself. Zen pen fighting causes cramps only to the mystic foetus needing oiling, like my owl painted on her bedroom wall in some underground f(e)ather bus; light blue cheese, of course.

(Science News)

The calm uncovers light. The dream uncovers might. The frame describes the whole. The mind describes the skull. The moon reshines the son. The old becomes the young. The night creates the morn. The day creates the porn. The junk, it gives me treasures. The dull, it showes me plesures. You bring me more than gold. Your taste becomes your fold.

Put down your mask and try a mold. Answer the phone if you need refreshments extra large, in every material, red, gray, or yeller. The grasshopper child needs another dose!

If you worry too much about getting back, you miss the surprise. The void reflects the back door to green liver Sundays, so don't forget:



Declaration of Interdependence

Forsooth! My lion tamer changes frequency at random intervals, and this disturbs me.

Tragic feet, my slippery one. Allow me to calm you with Middle Eastern whispers.
Ah, the cool breeze of Carbon delights me. You are truly one in ten.
Yes, yes, slip with me into a cold fever of ritualistic ironing and forget your silly toadstools, for they are naught but silly bubbles, you grape juice humidifier.
But wait, I'm not quite sure that my trousers are ripe with the rubber chickens of renewed Sports Illustrated subscriptions, and I think you just ran over Lassie, the poor soap bubble of my pancreas. Maybe we should settle this in Australia, where my head will be rooted in the seas of antiquity, and we will be allowed unfathomable Cheeze-Wiz.
My unsavory pestilence astounds me with it's grommet-like ordeals of Dr. Scholl's simian Castor Oil. Seweee, that's the dickens! Let's boil ourselves before we can realize the folly of our actions.
Simple reptile pusher, these are my friends! You can't just skin them like tulips and settle their domestic disputes with a few fell swoops of your child like lower appendages, unless you want the rock stars called on our feeble little ant farm of turnip vending Cadillac emblem collectors.
Well, well, well, wasn't that just the pleasant one, are we? I'm beginning to doubt your conviction in the matter. Let's take potato peelers to the concert and set them loose on the intermediary lap dog top spinners as they open their most delectable mollusks in the presence of kings and their feces alike.
Senile fishes swim in feces, and so should I, but why not compromise our structural integrity with soap and influence makeshift mothbutter experiences while simultaneously filling our notebooks with cream cheese on the matter of table tennis rings rented to satanic, blind midgets on full moons.
Alas, all of this turbulent mustard cutting and aspirin slurping has resulted in the fanciest of crayon candle making homeless Tibetans, sans capital glue hunts. I'm afraid I might slam a few hedgehogs, seeing as I'm silvered and devoid of pants. Let me out of this crazy cricket house!
Cranberry lacquer, not my eggnog you fiend! You've ruined Christmas, and you did it on purpose! I'll see you on the marshlands, you Scottish freak! Let slip my melancholy, sport fishing sheep dog on your latter knee socks and roasted bootstrap slicking Labradors, you scathing commentary on O.J. Simpson hysteria! You're not an eggplant I could replicate with sad faith and devotion.
But let me see, I need more budgerigars, as my position calls for immediate, induced vomiting as opposed to what my Rite Aid lackeys seam to agree is beyond poppy-dermal contradictions, now with half the dog-like apparati of other leading brands, you slavoring devotee to gingerbread!
Ooops, I've spilled it all over you, and now you must say it all over again, but this time in stereo, with Dolby Surround Sound, but with higher pitch to donate a distressed penguin living in Antarctic darkness without television, or peanuts, or a working knowledge of thatched huts, unless you count disturbingly large jellyfish, and I know you do so don't even try to deny it. Have you seen my caffeine?
Your moose and his contemporaries have enlightened me far beyond your mother's belief system, and I like it frothy, so give me the pistachios, and disregard my true intent, I just want to be a jumping bean, and your lizards are moist with anticipation, but I'll let you go now.
Seven for three,
Three for ten,
Target your quantity,
Release the hen,
Select your princess,
And lead the cheese,
Nine out of ten
Blind monkeys agrees.

Don't you contradict my ramen, you stocking stuffer! I've seen your glazed ham, and it is good. My navel has spoken.
You ornamental candle! You original member of the New Yardbirds! You person in a place where there are no people at all! I challenge you to reveal your ultimate sandwich making capabilities in all their glory.
Bread is good for Cheesy Poofs, but I prefer golden Franklin Bars. Slim pizza, Frank!
Sounds delicious, let us art.

by Moebius

Free Time Placement Test, Gradually

It's times like these
I can't complain
It seams so right
I can't explain
The sky so clear
The night so young
I hear these words
I've never sung
The trees they show
Thier paths to me
So many ways
To set me free
The rhythm, short,
The method, long,
The stars they show me
This here song
They take me up
On spirit wing
To where all life
Eternal springs
Devoid of hate
Devoid of sorrow
I see no more
Today tomarrow
Now sleep I dread,
That kind eraser,
My true nature
Residue and
Coffee grounds
And in my lungs
The night resounds
It's fractured call,
It's pretty fun,
It's marked hatred
Of the sun

Transfer interrupted!

by Moebius low,
My cat tail race,
My breathing slow,
That slow machine
Quite tickled pink
By mind massage
It makes me think
Where do I fit
When fit I not,
When mold I don't,
They in me rot
And waste away
From green to brown
Can't get it back,
Can't fix my frown
And pain and pressure
Matter not
When in the ground
My future saught
For many twigs
And loose kept down,
And change kept loose,
And research bound,
I lose my lake
And drift away,
Too harsh a land
In which to stay
And then I'm gone,
And then I'm gone,
The static comes,
And then I'm gone,
Rivers true
And thoughts decree
No more this mood
Comes over me,
I'm left behind,
I cannot see
The tree, the tree,
Why can't I see?
It's crystaline,
My entity,
They like it not,
They can't find me,
I can't find her,
She's living free
Of my torment,
My inner me,
My drama queen,
My busy bee,
Tripped out the door,
Where could it be?

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Techno Sonic Babble

brenza speaks, and so samuel listened for the ungodly cries to end, but they never did, so he finally stood and rested on that mound, that thing which we will not care to speak of more, and let it be known to all of his compatriots that this was the last moment in which he would ocupy this space, and flashing like an unimaginably complex formation of psycoactive lightning bugs he lifted upwards from the wreckage and saught the lighter shades of gray in the sprawling uphevalistic benifits of flowering beating dancing insanity with letters to the regional antilope squad filling the room with troup requests and query ques and now the fancy literature stylings of senor creusou will slide into the mix of sensory manipulations Gossamer Tune Rest Her(e)after and let on up for the liberating freedom of youthful scratchinplay marsupials and so i gave him another time spatula and he took it to his friend's house, and they tried it out. much was thier surprise when they found the funk on thier doorstep, and as it lifted them off in to the night, they sighed the sigh of men content with the downpouring light show and the fog and the wet. and the dry. they centered thier reactions around thier newfound reality sperm whales which flew not only through thier skies, but also through thier minds across the infinate, pulsating fields of tesselating ground earth plant field sky cloud vison environment you I and left it all behind and flew flew flew and where did they fly to, you ask me? I'll do better than tell you. I'll show you, if you'll follow. so, here, we pick it up and check it out. anti-orange heater snakes are often seen at this point, but don't let that bother you. Tis only natural that reality turn unrealistic in unreality, now isn't it. Now look at your tongue. Go on , take a good look. No one's watching, DO IT! there, that's better. mine hurts a bit, but i'll not get into why. not proper. anywho, so you disregard the garter snakes and leap, seeing your options diminished to a single point, and that point isn't you. no, it's not me. it's us. we are we, and we are all together, righto? you may experience or excivate tunnels at this point, and that's perfectly normal. After all, a little psychotic syndrome is a natural part of eating eighty-seven truely large and rougish barbarian warriors for breakfast. what, don't look at me. don't touch me, you slimy pink bastard! there's got to be some way out of here. maybe if i use the laundry chute. but it's infested with maggots. I know, that little girls hair. I'll hide in it, catch a ride, try out her kool-aid techniques on my little daemons, and have a logistics paradise trainspotting and sweater hopping. so, how bout them marmosats? have you been keeping up to date on thier latest devolopments in reality testing theory punctuating experience sequencing lime bannana networking does the bass get you creamy like I know it does? does your back door still glow with the footprints of that rat bastard. well, goodmorning honey, cause here's your tea and krimpits and life flashing before your eyes. there it goes. this is the flash, so flash already. Light them up with your caramel licorice metaphores for space sailing monkeys with large fuzzy yellow bunny slippers and big blue cigars from the Ciguri, not to say you couldn't devise a better plan to do it baby then run with that lemon rind monkeying hemisphere floating somewhere just above my conciousness if I could just jump at a certain angle i'm sure i could have it this is where the effot comes in buddy. this work don't slime itself, get juicy now or i'll lay my hands on far more yeilding flesh puppets yeah sure you will, don't give me that 'tude you fucking flesh-puppet nothingness you have no contol over your situation so i'm comandeering your mind for the good of the movement. bit soggy, but i don't complain, why slimey Bohagers do it all the same, they let on to thier puppies that they've rotten inflame but yesteryear with carcasses and buildings in flame. oh you want a rational thought do you, would that make you feel better? my greatest intent is that you might hear a thing in this that i'm not trying to tell you. do you hear what i'm not saying, man. look. listen. feel. red summer, the leaves unfolding, springing new with multi-hue cream pedistal full puppy podium for all to gaze upon with open veins and so the sun settled down into the vally, had a few kids, a dog, a Chrystler minivan, and visited the folks on holidays, and all was gay GAY? oh shit...and the art of noise brought in a rukus, and the bodies were strewn about the room, can words you write be cloistered cause for violating one's truth with renegades of this atomic aged cheese wizardry and letter running dark side agents at every corner tinkering with how much change you get back at S'leven so i'll reemburse ya, you'll so, but for now go out and break that rukus, or else there'll be no rukus and you'll be beat like your bowl. let's go find us some purple catapillars...fuzzy? betcha!


list bubbles. list crazy bubbles. have you heard about what the yen's doing to the mark? oh, yes, quite ghastly, carrying on like that as if Hitler was still in power. go ahead, girlfriend. find my soap, fix the market with your kind words and soft eyes. i haven't seen your car in a while. have you been good, or has someone reposesed your tires? they say you lost your handbag in a foriegn, arab nation, and when the authorities found it, they called the federation and let them know your lipstick is several shades too bright and the runs in all your stockings would give a mom a freight. point: narf!

the blue bus has come for us

The Actions Will Dictate, When Open are Plans

Letter open,
Razor spine
When counter pointing, blinking, whole, no skin, taking part in illumination at 5:23, can you hear them calling, chanting, wizards of the airwaves, chant, continue, relive life from the other side,
"Paradigm shift."
Following the shifting attention span linking units without letting concious energy interfere on any level like a snake rustlin' up a babe in the bush, know what I mean, sonny?
Traladra rising... Freedom,
Liquid custard creamy flowing pure everything EXISTANCE

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